


The Weight of Living Bone

by Lagerstatte



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Angst, Choking, Light Bondage, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Rough Sex, World of Ruin
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-30
Updated: 2017-07-30
Packaged: 2018-12-08 16:26:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,240
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11650356
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lagerstatte/pseuds/Lagerstatte
Summary: 'I hope,' Ignis said, a little hoarsely, 'you're planning on putting everything back where you found it.''And none worse for wear.' Gladio patted Ignis' cheek carelessly. It was already red and warm from the slap. 'At least, not much.'





	The Weight of Living Bone

**Author's Note:**

> Written for a prompt on the kinkmeme, [link here](http://ffxv-kinkmeme.dreamwidth.org/3892.html?thread=5704756#cmt5704756)! Not beta read but any concrit is welcome. Thanks for reading <3

The thing about Ignis was that while he was always, always thinking-working-planning, ten steps ahead, prepared for ninety-five per cent of problems and on the ball enough to wing the last five per cent, it wasn’t actually possible to tell that just by looking at him. He got up first and went to sleep last, he did the chores, planned the route, budgeted, did the itinerary and inventory, followed the politics and news, from Imperial propaganda to local headlines, and for the most part he did it in silence, scribbling in his notebook or on his phone while everyone else played cards or King’s Knight. He let Noct make the decisions and didn’t overrule him even when Noct’s decisions were stupid and should be overruled. He faced life with a dry (and sometimes terrible) sense of humour, a tendency towards nannying, and a mild expression. And sure, he let it slip when he wanted to, when Noct needed actual reassurance instead of platitudes or Prompto was being a dork for attention, but the times he did it accidentally Gladio could count on one hand. He worked and worked and worked and did it all effortlessly, like it was no big deal.

At least, he used to. He had, before he was blinded, Noct disappeared, and the sun went down and didn’t come up again.

Gladio was watching him now, though Ignis didn’t know it. Ignis was sitting at the kitchen table in his tiny flat in Lestallum. His hands were shaking.

The world had almost ended, civilisation almost fallen, and it’d take a thousand experts and the sun, neither of which they had, to put it back together again. Ignis was, of course, throwing himself into things like he could fix it all and have the table set, with a smile, for when Noct got back. (If Noct got back.) Sometimes, after a particularly magnificent breakthrough in the greenhouses or the housing crisis or the electrical supply, it almost felt like he’d manage it.

And sometimes – the other times – were like this, with him at stupid o’clock in the morning, sitting at the kitchen table with shaking hands, and all his plans and successes and failures buzzing round his head like flies around dead things.

‘Hey,’ Gladio said, and Ignis didn’t startle and turn, surprised that Gladio had snuck up on him. It took Gladio a few seconds to realise that that it wasn’t because Ignis wasn’t startled, it was because he just hadn’t heard him speak.

‘Hey,’ Gladio said again, a little louder. Still nothing. He frowned, put down his travel bag, and stepped closer. Ignis’ right eye was open so he wasn’t sleeping. The neighbourhood was loud – it couldn’t not be, with this many people crammed into such a small space – but it wasn’t like Gladio’s voice was just another background noise.

‘Iggy.’

He could touch Ignis’ shoulder, shake him gently, but he wasn’t sure what kind of reaction he’d get. Gladio put out his hand, cautiously, then withdrew before he could make contact. It wasn’t that he thought Ignis would hurt him so much as not wanting to see Ignis lash out in the first place. Ignis didn’t lash out. It’d be wrong.

For the first time Gladio was glad Prompto had decided to sit this trip out and stay in Hammerhead.

In the end, what happened was that Gladio put his hand on Ignis’ shoulder and Ignis didn’t move an inch. He let out a measured breath, then placed his hands on his lap, hiding them below the table.

‘Gladio. I wasn’t expecting you this late.’

‘Could say the same for you.’

‘Did you need anything?’

‘Me? No. But it looks like you need to get to bed. When was the last time you slept?’

Ignis made a dissatisfied noise, sharper than usual. A warning. ‘I’m fine.’

‘Huh, okay. So what were you doing?’ Gladio said, because leaving off was not something he’d been good at recently, not even for their first time seeing each other in months.

‘I am working on the distribution of medication. With no centralised database within settlements, let alone between them, and forged prescriptions becoming more common than real ones, what few resources we have are going down the drain. There’s already–’

‘Right,’ Gladio said, interrupting before Ignis could actually get warmed up on the topic. ‘And how much progress have you actually made the last couple of hours?’

Ignis’ silence was answer enough.

‘Come to bed, Iggy. Get some sleep and you’ll have a fresh head to look at it in the morning. Shit, you don’t need me to tell you this.’

‘Then by all means, please don’t.’

‘Get a fucking grip. You know I’m right.’

The way Ignis moved – probably meant to be shaking his head, but Gladio couldn’t quite tell – looked like it’d fit a broken MT more than anything organic, much less human. It made the hair on Gladio's neck prickle. A few seconds of silence and Ignis exhaled sharply through his nose, but didn’t speak.

‘Come to bed.’ The muscles in Gladio's shoulders were all tensed up.  ‘You can tell me about it in the morning, use me as a sounding board, rubber ducking and all that. You know you’re not gonna solve anything by sitting here and stewing all night.’

‘I’ll thank you for not presuming to know me better than I do myself,’ Ignis said, voice gone flat and hard. ‘I suggest you leave the kitchen, now.’

‘I think the point where you started killing yourself over a few stolen meds–’

‘Stolen _life-saving medication_.’ Ignis’ words twisted into a roar as he stood, knocking the table over with one hand. It smashed against a cupboard, breaking the door clean from it. ‘Three people died entirely preventable deaths just last week, one of them a lead agricultural researcher. We cannot – we can't afford this – I can't – I can't – I can't–’

His hands were still shaking. His whole body seemed to shake, but perhaps that was just from the way he was gasping, trembling in breaths and exhaling like he was going to throw up.

‘Yeah,’ Gladio said. ‘Tomorrow I’m gonna mock the fuck out of you for literally flipping a table, but for now you’re going to bed.’

Ignis bared his teeth, but it didn’t take much to grab him by the wrists and haul him bodily into the bedroom, kicking and twisting. The bed creaked alarmingly as he shoved Ignis down onto it.

‘What’s this, Gladio,’ Ignis said, snarled, as Gladio grappled with him to undo his belt and tug away his trousers. Ignis’ skin felt fever-hot. ‘Forcing yourself onto blind men in their own beds, now? You’ve spent too much time out hunting daemons.’

‘I’m going to forget you said that. For your sake, I hope you do as well.’ Trousers off and draped over the back of the chair, Gladio started to work on Ignis’ shirt. About half-way through Ignis gave up fighting and went limp. Gladio hung the shirt up, plucked Ignis' visor from his face, then stood back to strip down to his boxers. After a moment of hesitation he grabbed the lube from Ignis' bedside table. The sound of the drawer must have made what he was doing obvious, but Ignis didn't comment.

The bed creaked again when Gladio clambered onto it, lying on his side and facing Ignis. ‘Feel any better?’

A pause. ‘I can’t do it.’ The words barely came out, whispered into a shaky exhale. ‘I can’t do it, Gladio. I can’t stop thinking about it, I can’t fix it, any of it, and it’s all spinning around and around in my head, all of the time. I’d sleep if I could, but I can’t–’

Gladio rolled over, straddling Ignis' hips and leaning forwards so their faces were inches apart. 'It's fine,' he said. 'You can't fix it, that's okay.'

'People would be alive right now if I could fix it. It's very clearly not okay.'

'People would be alive right now if the sun were still around and daemons afraid of the dark. Come on, Iggy. This isn't something you can just fix by yourself. Don't go beating yourself up because you're not some superhero.'

Ignis laughed, short and ugly. 'That's not what you said to–' he cut himself off, but Gladio had already sat back, shifting his weight to get off.

'Wait.' Ignis sat up, grasping at Gladio's shoulders. 'Don't go. Gods, my head. Please don't go. I'll be quiet.'

'You're a mess. Fuck.'

Ignis fell back down onto the bed. 'Yes,' he said. 'Yes. If I can only fix things–'

'No.'

Ignis laughed. ‘No?’ It was obvious he wasn't hard, not even a little, but he rolled his hips up against Gladio and Gladio growled in his throat as his cock twitched in interest.

He didn't struggle as Gladio pinned his arms above his head. 'No. You're gonna calm the fuck down. That means no more thinking.'

'Mm, is that so.'

Gladio slapped him hard across the face. 'You said you'd be quiet. Now do it.'

Ignis went boneless, utterly silent, as if someone had flicked an off-switch. Gladio rubbed his hand against his own thigh; the texture of Ignis' scar tissue made his skin tingle, just slightly. Ignis didn't like people touching his facial scars – Gladio didn't think he ever had, except a few times in the very beginning when he'd helped to wash them. Of course, they'd been open wounds then, not scars.

There was a tie hanging by the wardrobe; Ignis didn't move when Gladio went to grab it, leaving his arms where they’d been pushed up against the headboard. He didn't move when Gladio tied them there, perhaps a little rougher than necessary, fabric pinching the skin on his wrists.

'I hope,' Ignis said, a little hoarsely, 'you're planning on putting everything back where you found it.'

'And none worse for wear.' Gladio patted Ignis' cheek carelessly. It was already red and warm from the slap. 'At least, not much.'

Ignis didn't say anything more, which was almost a shame because Gladio kinda wanted to slap him again. He hesitated for a moment, feeling the way Ignis was breathing and his dick growing hard against his ass. Ignis had closed his right eye, tight enough it was causing his brow to furrow. It snapped open when Gladio slapped him a second time, on the other side of his face, just because.

'Pay attention.'

Their underwear went unceremoniously onto the floor. Ignis' skin was tacky against Gladio's, already damp with sweat. The muscles in his arms strained as he tested out the makeshift bindings, and his heels flinched against the bed, little restless movements.

'Right,' Gladio said. 'From now on, the only things you're allowed to say are Gladio, and please.'

Ignis didn't reply, but then, neither of his two words would have made a sensible response. His mouth was open, just a little, and his eyelashes were damp. He whined, whole body stiffening as Gladio reached down and ran a palm over his cock, pressing it flat against his belly.

With his other hand Gladio scraped blunt fingernails up Ignis' side, from waist over ribcage to armpit, then lay his hand over Ignis' throat. Ignis made a noise, barely audible, but the vibration of it more than obvious. Gladio gave him a few seconds then adjudged his grip – thumb resting over his windpipe, fingers tightening around the back of Ignis' neck, intent very clear. Ignis' legs fell still. His cock, half-hard under Gladio's palm, twitched.

A few seconds passed, achingly long. Ignis didn't say anything.

Gladio lifted his hand from Ignis' neck and ran it down his chest to pinch at a nipple, tugging at it. Ignis bucked, mouth forming a word that didn't come out, and wrapped his legs around Gladio’s waist as Gladio lifted him up onto his lap.

A bit of lube got onto the sheets – Gladio's hands weren't as steady as they should be. Damn. He hadn't even noticed, and now that he had, the coiling pressure of his own arousal was impossible to ignore. His hips nudged forwards as he stroked himself and Ignis made a soft noise as he felt the movement. The soft noise turned hard, dissolving into a ragged groan when Gladio pushed into him without warning, sinking in inch by slick inch, not giving him time to adjust. Gladio bit the tip of his tongue as Ignis bucked his hips, groan breaking into a breathy whine. He could feel his heartbeat in his neck, his chest and stomach, racing. He wanted to grab Ignis, hold him down and fuck him hard and fast – but no. He took a deep breath, then another, and forced himself to go slow. It took another few moments until he bottomed out, only barely able to keep his hips still and not thrust, and _fuck_ Ignis was tight – perhaps he should have prepared him, even a little. Beneath him Ignis was tensed up, breath choppy, his legs trembling like they were torn between pulling Gladio closer and pushing him away.

Gladio gritted his teeth. His insides felt taut with heat and pleasure and just a touch of pain from how fucking tight Ignis was; sweat prickled on his back. His hips jerked back then thrust, just once, shallow and hard.

'Gladio–' Ignis' voice was rough, the word coming out on a ragged exhale and cut off as he gasped in the inhale. His spine arched, and he rolled his hips – more, probably, to find a better position than to fuck himself on Gladio's cock, but the end result was fucking himself. His legs pushed at Gladio, trying uselessly to force him away as Gladio thrust again, hard enough to shove Ignis bodily up towards the headboard then drag him back down again with his hands on Ignis' hips.

‘Gladio – _fuck_ –'

Expletives were rare for Ignis. Normally Gladio found yanking them out of him, half-formed and breathless, one of the hottest things in the whole fucking world. And okay, yeah, this one was also mind-blowingly hot, so much that Gladio could feel a wholly unbidden growl rumble in his chest, and that tight coil of pleasure in his belly wind even tighter, but that wasn't the point of tonight.

He leant forwards, bending Ignis to get their faces close enough he could feel the heat of Ignis' breath on his lips. 'Whoops,' he said. 'Don't remember saying you could say that one.'

'Gladio–' Ignis' eye widened when Gladio put his hand back on his throat. He twisted a little and clutched at Gladio with his legs, heels pressing into the small of his back. The bed-frame creaked as Ignis pulled at his arms; without meaning to Gladio rocked his hips in barely controlled, tight little thrusts.

He waited for Ignis’ mouth to open again, for those slim, pretty lips to form words, before he pressed his thumb down against Ignis’ windpipe. The muscles and tendons in Ignis’ neck tensed, pressing up against Gladio’s hold, and Ignis’ panting turned to rasping, scraping in air through his open mouth.

Fuck. Ignis’ open mouth was filthy, red and wet, and his face flushed to match the scar tissue in colour. Strands of his hair were sticking to his forehead and tears pooled in the hollows of his eyes. He looked undone, taken apart, and he whined when Gladio adjusted his thrusts to slip an extra inch out and force in that much harder, faster. Gods, Ignis whining – for all that he did make noises in sex he’d never under threat of death make otherwise, it blindsided Gladio every time. To hear that kind of obscene sound from Ignis, of all people – to be the one to have caused it – was a thrill like lightning. Heat ran up Gladio’s nerves, up his spine, tightening and tightening. Gladio loosened his grip on Ignis’ throat; his fingers felt weak, running pins and needles. Ignis swallowed, again and again, and gagged as he breathed.

Gladio gave him a few seconds to recover before he pressed down again, harder. Ignis bucked, the muscles in his arms straining visibly as he yanked at his bound hands, but Gladio rolled with his movements and held him there, pinned to the bed and jerking helplessly with each harsh thrust of Gladio’s hips.

Ignis' legs tightened for a moment then released their grip, going slack. Gladio held his own breath for a second just so the only sound left was the sound of flesh on flesh, a rhythmic damp slap-slap, and the creak of the bed, and his blood pounding hard in his ears.

'Not so,' Gladio said, reaching down to take Ignis' cock in hand, stroking his thumb down the erect length of it. His own orgasm was creeping up on him, making it hard to think, hard to do anything but keep on chasing that white-hot pleasure. He groaned, low and guttural as he lost his rhythm for an unsteady moment, hammering out a couple of slower, harder thrusts. 'Not so all high and mighty, solutions-no-emotions now, eh Iggy?'

Ignis didn't respond, of course. Gladio wasn't entirely sure he'd heard him, or, at least, understood him if he had heard. Gladio relaxed his hand on Ignis' throat but left it there, curled around the column of it as Ignis gagged and gulped in breath after desperate breath. He sobbed out a wordless noise as Gladio squeezed his cock, just gently, and his hips jerked a small, sloppy motion. If he weren't resting on Gladio's thighs he'd have slipped down by now, Gladio realised, and hoisted him a little closer, tucking them together until Ignis was bent almost double, trapped. Ignis’ skin felt scalding against his own. Fuck, he wanted it – that expanse of skin, every smooth patch and rough scar that peppered him from head to foot. He wanted all of Ignis’ body, deceptively lithe but in truth six foot of solid muscle. He wanted to taste him, run his hands over every inch, wanted to mark him to say to anyone who looked: _Gladio fucked this man, this breathtakingly handsome, clever and caring man. I fucked him, here I am._

Ignis’ cock was hard, a hot weight in his hand, leaking precome. Gladio tugged at it, thumbing the slit, and ran his knuckles up the length of it as he pressed it down against Ignis’ stomach. It twitched and Ignis made a noise halfway between a sob and a groan, wet and weak. Gladio’s hips jerked forwards unintentionally, uncontrolled.

‘You look – fuck – so fucking good like this, Iggy. Good thing I’m here to fuck that stick out of your ass, huh?’ Gladio brushed a hand over Ignis’ left nipple, tugging at it, but if Ignis registered it it didn’t show. He scraped his nails as hard as he could across Ignis’ pecs and collarbones as he moved his hand back to Ignis’ neck, and forced his grip there tighter and tighter by small degrees. ‘Good thing you got me to give you what you need, give you a good fucking, take you apart piece by fucking piece.’

Back arching, Ignis’ legs made a weak, useless attempt to cling onto Gladio’s waist.

‘Look how desperate you are for it. You love this, don’t you? You’re so godsdamn desperate for this. Fuck.’

Gladio let him breathe, and Ignis’ body shook with the force of his coughs, wet and trembling. He was limp, loose-limbed, letting his body move with his rasping coughs and Gladio’s thrusts but not much else. There wasn’t any response as Gladio stroked his cock, rubbing the pad of his thumb against the sensitive spot just below the head, until finally – a tremor, the muscles in his thighs jumping, and he clenched around Gladio’s cock in his ass.

Gladio had just enough time to reach down and squeeze his throat before Ignis came, splattering across his stomach. His chest was heaving uselessly, unable to drag in the smallest amount of air until Gladio let go of him to grip his hips and hammer out the last few thrusts before his own orgasm overtook him, a dizzying release of tension that swept through him and left him weak and panting for breath. His ears were ringing faintly. He sat back on his heels and looked down at Ignis. Sweat dripped in his eyes, stinging, and he wiped it away absently.

Ignis was coughing, but in a limp sort of way; he had marks across his hips and throat, red blotches that promised to bruise come morning. As Gladio got off the bed he curled up onto his side, and when Gladio tugged the tie loose he brought his hands to his chest. He carried on coughing, gagging wetly as he gasped for air, but his body was soft and pliant as Gladio ran a hand down his side, from waist to thigh. Too exhausted, pushed too far.

By the time Gladio got back from the bathroom with a damp washcloth Ignis was mostly still, though still breathing short and shallow, open-mouthed. It sounded raw, hoarse, and he lay motionless as Gladio wiped him down, face and neck, arms, shoulders, stomach and between his legs, and rolled him under the covers. Gladio left him there, and by the time he got out of the shower Ignis was asleep.

The bed was a little too short for Ignis; if he weren’t curled his feet would be poking off the end. Gladio didn’t know who the original owner was – whether they’d been kicked out of their home to make room for more important people, or if they were dead, or if no one had lived here anyway and the furniture had been scavenged from wherever they got second-hand furniture from. It was a mark of just how useful Ignis was that he had a place to himself, small as it was, too-short bed or not.

Gladio crawled under the covers and curled up behind Ignis, tight enough that his own feet remained on the mattress, if only just. As he lay there he realised that he was tired – bone tired, achingly so. Exhausted, really. It had been a hard few weeks and a long journey, and the weight and warmth of Ignis in front of him seemed to suck away what little energy he had left. He was out only moments after he closed his eyes.

  


\- - - - - - -

  


Gladio woke, instantly alert. Ignis’ side of the bed was empty; there was a noise in the kitchen. He was halfway to the door before he realised what that noise was.

Low, muffled sobs, ugly and raw and painful sounding through a bruised throat. Keening, cut off before it got too loud, dissolving into ragged, wet gasps. Again and again, like the sound of dying animals calling for each other. Gladio returned to the bed, lay back down, and covered his eyes with a forearm. His chest ached. A sharp pain lodged itself in his throat.

Going in there wouldn’t achieve anything. If nothing else, though, he could try give Ignis some dignity – or let him keep what scraps he had left, at least. Ignis had so little of anything these days. Gladio rolled over to how he’d been when he woke and closed his eyes. The sounds from the kitchen followed him and settled on him like snow.

It wasn’t him whom Ignis wanted, anyway.

Some part of him meant to wait, but he fell back asleep before Ignis returned.

  


\- - - - - - -

  


Gladio woke, the sounds from outside telling him it was morning. He groaned, a low, dissatisfied rumble, and got up. Ignis wasn’t in the bedroom, but at some point during the night he’d put Gladio’s travel bag just inside the door. He’d also picked up the underwear they’d left on the floor, and hung his shirt and trousers on coat hangers.

Ignis was sitting at the kitchen table, writing. He tilted his head in acknowledgement as Gladio came in. ‘Good morning.’

‘Mm. Morning.’

‘Talcott should be here soon. Just to drop off some things, won’t stick around long.’ His voice was hoarse, barely there.

Gladio watched for a second, squinting in the darkness as Ignis followed the embossed lines on the page. ‘It’s more convenient than typing,’ Ignis said, mildly. ‘Saves electricity. And not everyone has access to a computer either way.’

‘Right.’

Ignis finished his sentence and put the pen down. He turned and shot Gladio a half-smile, lifting his chin to touch the base of his throat, mottled in bruises. ‘I seem to have picked up a throat cold,’ he said, and picked up a scarf from his lap to wind around his neck. ‘Terribly inconvenient. Though thankfully it seems to have passed you by.’

Sitting down at the table Gladio huffed a laugh. ‘Maybe you should get out more. Probably this city living is giving you a shitty immune system.’

Ignis’ quiet laughter turned to coughing. ‘Maybe,’ he said, and accepted the glass of water Gladio went and got for him. ‘Or perhaps it’s you bringing in your diseases from outside.

Gladio didn’t answer that. He watched as Ignis went back to writing. His hair was ungelled, falling over his forehead, and he was wearing his visor again to hide his eyes. The darkness of the room covered much of the rest of his face.

‘So,’ Gladio said, finally. ‘What’re you working on? Anything I can do to help?’


End file.
